


Tidbits and Tchotchkes

by spyrograph



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alcohol, Dementia, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 22:13:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15616137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyrograph/pseuds/spyrograph
Summary: Assorted DS9 drabbles and flashfiction of Andrew Spyrograph





	1. Repetitions Unremembered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Death, Julian Bashir/Kelas Parmak, Elim Garak

“Then lie to me!” Kelas’s voice creaks with age and emotion, “Please, Julian.” 

How many times now? How many times has Julian held Kelas’ frail hands while he screamed in bereavement? 

“I promise Kelas. I will always lie to you.” 

Every morning, Julian arranges Garak’s things about their home as if he still lived and breathed— a half-finished piece of embroidery, a novel left open, his beloved orchids diligently kept. Garak’s best suit and his traveling case were always conspicuously absent and a hand-written note left on the dinette table: 

_These emergency sessions be damned! I shall see you the day after tomorrow at the latest, my dears. Thinking of you always, Elim._

And most days this was enough to satisfy Kelas’ curiosity. Kelas would go about his day- tidying the kitchen and fussing over the gravel path (he hated it because the little grey-green stones always tracked into the house) and reading. Occasionally he’ll look up from his task and inquire, “Where is Elim?” 

“He’s in Corat,” or “The hell if I know. Probably schmoozing with the Andorians again,” Julian says. And most of the time, Kelas is mollified. 

But evenings like this (when a dust storm looming just beyond the horizon painted the world in milky blood orange) Kelas becomes agitated, “Why doesn’t he answer my messages?” and paces about the house, noticing all the carefully placed details and piecing together the unpleasant reality.

Julian has long since learned that attempting to keep Kelas from coming to the inevitable conclusion at this point will only make things worse. 

When Kelas asks, “How long have I been living with dementia?” Julian nearly cries from relief. Tonight he won’t have to watch his husband’s heart fail just a little more. Tomorrow he won’t feel envious of Kelas’ inability to remember that pain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gen, Elim Garak, Jack, background Garashir

It was cold on Deep Space 9. Not a tooth-chattering cold but a pervasive, relentless, omnipresent chill that kept his skin goose-fleshed and his nostrils uncomfortably dry.

After no less than eight arguments about resetting the station’s temperature controls to the original Cardassian specifications, Lauren had suggested sweaters as a compromise.

None of the replicator programs were acceptable! Patrick insisted the colors were wrong. Lauren said the patterns were so out of style they’d be fashionable again next year. Jack thought they were all too bulky- he resented even the slightest loss of range of motion.

Luckily, Garak’s Clothiers had many to choose from. Almost too many. Jack had spent the last hour appraising every single cold-weather garment in the shop.

“How do you feel about this one?” Garak, whose patience was not infinite, offered an item he’d retrieved from the back room.

“I don’t like it,” Jack scowled. “It looks exactly like something Bashir would wear. It’s even one of his favorite colors. It would fit him too. Fit him perfectly. Hmm hmmm. Like it was made for him. It was, wasn’t it? Tailor-made to fit him.”

The Cardassian didn’t move away when Jack got close. He didn’t even blink! “Are you trying to tell me I should be more like him, hmm hmm!?”

“Do you deliberately misconstrue people’s actions for your own amusement or are you genuinely this ego-centric?”

“You’re flirting with me.”

“I flirt with all my customers.”

“I’m not flirting with you. You’re trying to change the subject!”

“You’re right on both accounts. I did make this sweater with Doctor Bashir in mind.”

“Ha! I knew it!”

“It’s Vitarian wool. Lovely stuff, really- highly coveted for it’s warmth and luster. Unfortunately, I did not learn until after it’s completion that Doctor Bashir finds the texture disagreeable.”

Jack fisted both his hands in the intricately knit sweater. His fingers were almost instantly warmer, “How disagreeable?”

“He never touched it,” Garak sighed. “He barely even glanced at it on the rack.”

Jack pulled it on over his head. The sleeves were a bit long but otherwise it wasn’t a bad fit. And it was so very warm!

“I’ll take it!”


	3. Anatomically Appropriate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gen, Garak, unnamed vorta

“How was I supposed to know he would be offended?” Garak blathered. “I merely made the observation that one pant leg was wider than the other!” 

“You said, and I quote, ‘There must be enough room in there for a third leg’.”

“Some people just don’t know how to take a compliment!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> m/m, Benjamin Sisko/Elim Garak, alcohol use

Someone is at the door.

Benjamin Sisko is drunk. 

It’s a rare enough occurrence these days that he’s not entirely prepared for the liquid lead in his bones. He can’t quite convince himself to get up from the couch.

Someone is at the door.

“If it isn’t a life or death emergency I do not wish to be disturbed!” he cringes at his own unintentionally loud outburst.

He just wants a few more hours to wallow in his regrets! Confession given in a log entry and deleted, penance made from a decanter of whiskey, self-absolution postponed indefinitely. 

The door opens. 

“I am sorry to disturb you,” Garak demurs, “but there is one small order of business left to attend.” 

Benjamin stands and swallows a whisky-hot rage, “And what would that be.”

“I’ll get straight to the point,” Garak’s lip is still broken and swollen– why hasn’t he gone to the infirmary yet? “My continued presence on Deep Space Nine relies heavily upon the good will of the Federation and it’s representatives. I would greatly appreciate assurances that none of this unpleasantness between us will affect my livelihood.”

“I would never do anything so petty,” the implication rubs salt in his wounds.

“You’ll forgive me, Commander, if I insist upon a small formality? On Cardassia, it is traditional to end these things with a gesture of goodwill.”

“What sort of gesture?”

“A kiss.”

“A kiss.” Benjamin wants to call this bullshit. But he’s a Starfleet officer and Garak is not human and Benjamin doesn’t know enough about Cardassian culture to make that assessment. 

“Yes, and then we can both get on with our lives as though none of this ever happened.”

If only it were really that simple. Delete a log entry. Kiss and make up.

“Agreed.”


End file.
